Whispers of the Heart
by societysnerd
Summary: For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. -Judy Garland- SEQUEL TO POST-ITS IS UP! (If you haven't read Post-Its, you might want to do so as in the first few chapters you may be a little lost!)
1. Chapter 1

**This is the reason why I've been so lax updating 'Sixteen Again.' I have these momentary bouts of clarity and imagination as to how I want a story to go, the things I want to write and I find myself having to pen it down before I lose it all, and then having to write as much of it as I can before it all disappears in a puff of smoke.**

**Much of it, is short, which will probably be to all of yous' dismay. But it's a start and all things have to start somewhere don't they? Also, it's all from Maura's perspective, totally in the second person, starting from the moment she set eyes on Jane. It will consist of a brief look at what happens between them from that point on till their marriage/honeymoon. After that, it will switch back to third and you'll all go back to reading it in the present.**

**The first chapter is just something to whet your appetite with. I hope you all enjoy it, and would love to know what you think! Reviews as always are welcomed and appreciated.**

**And so it is with great pleasure that I present to you, the first of the ten chapters of the sequel to Post-Its. (Bit by bit, of course. I can't give it all to you at once, can I?) ;)**

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_For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart._

_It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul_

_-Judy Garland-_

Chapter 1

You wake. To the beginning of the sun's rays shining through that sliver of curtain and for a split second, you panic. Believing the last few days to have been but a dream. But then your head turns and your arm moves to see the indentation in the sheets, feeling the warmth that lingers. And you smile. As you remember her presence in your home that fateful night…

.

.

.

You see the note; it's stuck on the mirror of your dresser. You're not afraid, merely curious. After all, it's not the first you've found. You've been wondering when the next one would turn up. And, if you're being totally honest with yourself, looking forward to them. It gives you a sense of comfort, a sense of peace. It allows you to feel closer to Jane. But then your eyes fall on the words that read:

I love you

Be mine

Marry me.

And you can't help but change your line of thought that someone's playing some sort of cruel and twisted joke. Because those are the exact same words Jane used to propose. And it leaves you gasping for breath till you realize you're not alone.

It's the presence behind you, you feel first rather than hear.

You turn.

And you gasp.

And you think, perhaps you've had too much to drink...that the person standing in front of you is simple a hallucination, an image of what your mind wants but can't have...till you realize that the wine glass in your hand has gone untouched, the bottle downstairs just newly opened.

The figure comes closer, closing whatever distance there was between the two of you and you drink them in.

You take in the dark, loose curls, the lanky frame that's just a bit thinner than the last time you saw them, the high cheekbones, strong Italian features and last but not least, the smoldering dark eyes that you can't seem to tear yourself away from. You blink once. Twice. But no, they're still there in front of you.

You reach out a hand in affirmation, placing it exactly over the beating of her heart where you feel the gentle but definite thrum of a steady beat. And just like that, something within you snaps, and the tears spill over, and you throw yourself against her, your arms winding around her neck as she wraps her own arms round your waist, pulling you closer, a quiet "yes" rolling over like waves as you whisper it continuously against her neck, burying yourself deeper, breathing her in.

And just like that...

the piece of you that's been missing for the last five months, snaps back in to place.

.

.

.

You spend the next couple of days, just the two of you, basking in each other's presence. Re-acquainting yourself with her, and vice-versa; re-affirming that she's really there. There's nothing sexual about what the two of you share. There's intimacy for sure, but it's the emotional type. It's the joining of two souls, at peace at last.

And despite the lateness of the hour in which she has re-appeared, you don't sleep. You hold on to her, arms around her waist, legs tangled together, your head resting in its favorite place; the crook of her neck. And for hours, the two of you don't speak. You listen to her breath, feel her arms caress yours, pulling you closer.

And you sigh.

Because for the first time in months, you're home.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It's been a few days before you realize her mother has yet to find out.

That she's back.

That she's alive.

It occurs to you for the first time that not only have you not seen Angela but you've not heard from her either. Until you find out that your beloved detective bought her a weekend spa date for two, date fixed for the day she had returned and sent her a message using your phone telling her to go and spend some time with the BPD Lieutenant because you needed some time alone to process given everything that's happened in the last few days, how you were fine and you'd see her at work on Monday. Despite the underhandedness of it all, you wouldn't have it any other way. Her all to yourself, if only for a few days, basking in her mere subsistence.

So busy you've been learning what's happened over the last few months; how she did actually die on the table, how the doctor somehow brought her back. And you're grateful to the staff. More so than they will ever be able to imagine.

Cardiac arrest.

You find out how once they re-started her heart more times than you would like to think, how each second her heart refused to beat made it more and more dangerous for her coming back to you as the person you remember. You know the statistics. You know how if normal blood flow is not resumed within 15-20 minutes, brain cell loss becomes extensive, how simply brain cells can become damaged within a few seconds, never mind 20 minutes. Because it is the absence of a heart beat, the absence of breathing that leads to the absence of brain function; how the simple stopping of that strong, necessary muscle which in turn causes a lack of red blood cells being pumped round the body can cause utter catastrophe in its wake; how each small catalyst can lead to death becoming irreversible. How even if she had been saved, she might not have come back as the Jane you knew. You try not to think about it. You focus instead on how the doctors managed to fix the internal bleeds, how they moved her to another floor, away from the corridor where you and the rest of her family were waiting outside, through the 'back doors' of the operating theater.

As per request of the FBI.

You hear how she was sedated during the critical period before being weaned off the drugs until it was realized she had entered into a coma and remained as such for the next two months, all the while under the watchful eye of the Bureau, and specialist doctors. Part of you is grateful for the care your Detective received. Another part feels cheated; of the months you could have spent together, of the time you could have spent taking care of her, making it up to her, memorizing every detail of that beautiful face as if it were to be your last, showing her you cared by holding her hand, brushing stray tendrils away from her face, talking to her, whispering in her ear, that she was loved, and of the time you could have spent by her bedside, all the while thinking that if only you'd been there, she would have opened her eyes sooner. She speaks of how she spent the next month, recuperating, and the following time undergoing rehabilitation and physiotherapy for her arm. And you think…of how you should have been by her side, ensuring she wasn't overdoing it whilst at the same time, making sure she was doing all the exercises she so hated to do for others, but would willingly do for you.

And despite your conflicting feelings, you understand. That her hiding had been necessary due to the threat that had been hanging over her, put out by Doyle's men till even they were rounded up, and for all you know, by Doyle himself. That her hiding had been necessary in keeping her alive. And so, despite your conflicting feelings…

you're grateful.

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**Reviews? Improvements, comments etc?**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There's a hush of silence as the two of you walk through the doors of BPD hand in hand. Despite your better judgement to keep her cocooned in the relative safety of your house, and your arms, you know it's time for her to face the world again.

Everyone who was doing both something and nothing have stopped.

To turn.

To stare.

Their mouths agape.

And you can't help the giggle that rises within you.

_Because you're proud._

The woman beside you who's always had the ability to silence a room with the patented Rizzoli glare, seems to have gone above and beyond and done so with just her presence, without looking at anyone at all. But you're protective too. To have this woman all to yourself. To keep her both by your side and within your sight.

There's a noise to your right, and you snap out of your daze to look over only to see an officer having swooned and keeled over at the sight. No one rushes to help him. They're all in their own daze. In spite the oath you've taken to help those in need, you're loathe to leave her side. You come to the rather odd and illogical conclusion which is strange for you, that as he's neither hit his head on anything that has the potential to cause a concussion or brain damage nor gained any other bodily and life threatening injuries, your assistance is not high up on the ranking of being absolutely essential. After all, all he's done is gone vasovagal.

The squeeze of your hand brings you back, and you look round to see that you've both stopped in front of the elevator. You look back up at her to find her gazing adoringly at you with a silly grin on her face. She rolls her eyes in good humor, shaking her head lightly at the groan the fallen man lets out and who is now coming out of his fall from grace. There is the snap of people who have seemingly snapped out of their trance and are going to his aid. She pulls you, with a gently tug past the awaiting metal doors, and you can't help but grin back as the doors of the elevator close, once again leaving the two of you alone.

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**Thanks for all the great reviews guys! And a thanks also to those who have favorited and are following. There's much more to come! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It turns out that the rookie earlier on today was not the only one to swoon at your detective's presence. Frost also seemingly turned as white as a sheet, which was hard for him considering. Korsak looked agape. Even Crowe himself rubbed his eyes several times after having picked his jaw up from the ground. The only one who didn't seem to even blink was Cavanaugh.

As it turns out, the moment Doyle was sentenced, the moment the gavel struck, the moment she left their protection and made her way home was also the moment Sean Cavanaugh got to know that his best detective had been under their protection all this time as compared to lying six feet underground. He's not surprised though at how long it took her to turn up.

He understands.

.

.

.

Angela takes it just as they expected. Well…except maybe for the fainting part.

The moment the two of you walk into the Division One Café, you see the Rizzoli matriarch standing off to one side, pulling an officer by his ear, yelling at him about making up stories, how ghosts don't come back from the dead, how the tale he'd told about how he'd just seen her daughter downstairs as clear as day was a tall one and how he should let her rest in peace god bless her soul, because she was the best daughter any person could have and how she was proud to have known her in all the years she was alive.

But then heads swivel.

And everyone's face turns ashen grey.

They can't believe.

_She._

Can't.

Believe.

It.

The blood drains.

She literally turns white.

And the hard grasp she's had on the poor cop's ear goes slack.

It has turned bright red and he's rubbing it gently, feeling sorry for himself, his gaze on the floor.

There's the whisper of her name before she too befalls the same fate as that rookie cop earlier on. Ironically, it's the poor man who's just had his ear mauled off who catches her as she swoons. And at that moment, Frankie rushes in. Because he's heard it on the grapevine too. Fortunately for him, he doesn't hit the floor. He'd never have lived it down if he had. But it doesn't stop the tears that threaten to overwhelm and fall down his face.

"Janie?" His voice is small, uncertain, but most of all vulnerable; much like it had been when he'd been a little boy and knew he was in trouble.

She smiles, taking him in. "Hey, Brother."

He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between them before wrapping the brunette in a bone crushing hug, one that she returns with equal fervor. No more words are needed between the siblings.

Their eyes say enough.

.

.

.

When Angela finally comes to, she does it with a hovering brunette above her face and she blinks.

Once.

Twice.

And then she pokes her. And it's the half-hearted mock of a furious "ow" and the subsequent hand the detective raises in response in order to capture her mother's that makes Angela realize she isn't seeing ghosts; that the woman before her is real after all.

The Rizzoli matriarch's eyes fall on you; you're right by your detective's side. And they narrow as she takes in the fact that you don't seem as surprised as everyone else. In fact, you appear to be surprisingly calm; there's an air of absolute serenity, a glow that gives the impression that you've been basking in it for days, or rather in her. You squirm under her gaze as a definite tinge of red makes its way up your neck and to your cheeks.

"You owe me…Both of you."

And you flush, deeper this time.

Because you know it's true.

But you don't care.

You would do it all over again.

You'd go countless days owing her if it meant having Jane back by your side.

That's all you want.

That's all you've ever wanted...

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**Just a quick shout out to all those who've left reviews and are currently supporting the development of this story. You're all fab! Thanks guys!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

You spend a week together, with the curtains drawn and the doors locked. She called off for you, and you love her for it. A week ago, she was almost stabbed. And if it hadn't been for her quick thinking and impressive monumental agility skills in seeing the knife flicked at her and her diving out of the way as the man charged at the two of you from where he had hidden in the closet and pushing you aside in the process, you're certain she would have been dead had her partner not come rushing in just in the nick of time.

It had been a normal crime scene. Just like any other.

Except this time is the fourth time in the months you'd come to spend without her, that you're with her and you're basking in her presence. Just the feeling of her a few meters away from you makes you glow as she tells her partner to case the rest of the house and make sure the crime scene is secure. And then she's there, by your side and she crouches next to you, resting on the balls of her feet as you tell her what you can about the body. Female. Body still warm. Twelve wounds creating by a sharp object. And there's a teasing glint in her eyes as she tries to get you to tell her whether the reddish-brown substance that's now congealing from the wounds is actually blood, the sort of object that caused the wounds and whether one of them is directly related to the victim's death. You roll your eyes but you're grateful for the lightheartedness of it all, the familiarity. You open your mouth but before you can even respond, there's a swinging of doors in front of you as a man comes charging out. He's wielding a knife. His face is contorted and his eyes hold a determined glint.

You freeze.

Time literally slows down for you as you watch it all happen in slow motion. But then you feel a shove and the breath leaves your body as she pushes you to one side and makes an oh so graceful dive over the body. The knife wielding maniac isn't as considerate though and you watch as he steps over the body, leaving his footprint in the blood that lays thickened on the floor, nudging the slightly in the process. You watch as he goes for her, as she slips out of his grasp, winds her way underneath before reaching for his collar and slamming him against the wall. Somehow, he manages to turn around, to face her.

He backhands her causing her to stumble and fall. And then before you know it, he's straddling her, towering over her, and you watch as he lowers the arm that holds the sharp serrated object slowly towards her, her hands wrapping round his wrist in an attempt to slow the process, to find another way out from under him. You see her straining to keep his arm away.

You search for a weapon of some kind and your eyes fall on the lamp that's on the dresser but just as you're reaching for it, Frost comes skidding in, always the one to miss out on the start of the action itself, always getting there just as the thick of it occurs. The guy is a brute of a man and it takes not only the two of them but two other officers who have come running in to investigate the ruckus to subdue him.

And once it's all over, once the cuffs are slapped on his wrists, you're reminded once again of her own mortality. Today, you came this close.

Too close.

And you can't bear thinking of a life without her.

Not again.

Because this time, you're not sure you would survive.

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**Hope you liked it! Thanks for all the reviews!**

**Have a good weekend ahead!**


	6. Chapter 6

**I took your comments on board and extended this chapter so it's slightly longer this time. Not much more. Maybe four, five hundred words or so. Longest chapter yet! Hope you like it!**

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Chapter 6

You sit there picking at the invisible thread on the couch as you wait for the Doctor Pearce to finish preparing the hot beverage he so kindly offered.

He's your therapist. Doctor Pearce. He came recommended. By Addison. He's a kind man. Blue eyes, salt and pepper hair, glasses.

But he's not your Jane.

He doesn't provide that same sense of calm that encompasses you You take a deep breath reminding yourself that she's only on the other side of the door, sitting in the waiting room, legs twitching unconsciously, most likely playing a game of angry bird on her phone. She never could keep still. It brings a smile to your face and immediately gives you a sense of calm.

This is your eighth session.

You're here because of the panic attacks.

You started having them shortly after Jane's return. One day you woke up to find that she wasn't there and just like, the walls started closing in, tears streaming down your face as you were suddenly hit by the belief that it had all been a figment of your imagination. That none of it had been real.

You thought you had dreamed it.

Her.

Till the sight of her and the sound of her voice as she came in the bedroom carrying the breakfast tray of pancakes, bacon, maple syrup and coffee. She barely had time to put the tray down as she read the anxiety in your eyes before you scrabbled up to meet her. Touch her. Re-affirm yourself of her . And refuse to let go. After that, they came intermittently. But they got worse after the knife incident at the crime scene. It's why you're sat on his couch now.

The two of you have talked about everything and nothing.

Sometimes, it's normal day to day stuff, how work's going. Others...it's deeper, more intense. You told him about Jane, how you held her in your arms as she bled over the hospital floor, how guilty you felt in letting her go in the room with the FBI agent but how pride and a whole lot of angst had held you back. From stopping her. From telling her that it hadn't been the shot that had made you mad and unable to see sense and logic, but rather the fact that you felt she had taken something away from you that day - the ability to find out who your biological mother was, and how you had felt that she hadn't acted taking you into account, as a friend, as a lover, but instead gone head long into her job and gotten caught.

You talk about how you felt the thud of your heart for every step the doctor took towards you, how your world came crashing down even before he uttered those fatal words. Because you could tell. There was loss in his eyes, a sense of defeatism. You talk about the funeral and the brief image you had of her standing there in the distance as she waved you farewell, the way you saw her lying next to you, had conversations with the air, all the while imagining she was there, that nothing had changed, when in fact, everything had.

You talk about the months you spent without her; how you closed yourself off from everyone else, shut down. How the life you lived hadn't been a life at all, but a mere existence. Day in, day out. How you focused on simply being able to put one foot in front of the other. How even in death, you had never stopped loving her, suspended in that limbo called time.

You talk about the notes and the present, and how they gave you life, hope, and a bittersweet pang at the thought for all you believed you had lost.

And in response, he's given you a variety of scenarios, of what ifs. They're things you don't work with because of the lack of certainty. But they send shudders through you nonetheless. You don't know what's worse. The image that Doyle so cruelly treated you to on the floor of his hospital room or the image of Jane not firing her weapon, of acting like your friend, lover and fiancé, of not being the cop that she is, of Doyle doing so like the criminal he is and firing his gun hitting Jane resulting in injuries that could have been a lot more traumatic or fatal because of the one cataclysmic difference that there wouldn't have been a medic on hand or a whole host of doctors and nurses ready and waiting but instead having to wait...countless minutes before help came while you are forced to watch the blood drain out of your lover's body, laden with the knowledge that given the circumstances, location and lack of medical apparatus, there's nothing you can do except stem the flow and hope for the best while you plead with her to hang on, throwing up silent prayers to a God you don't quite believe in.

You think perhaps the latter is worse because you would be so focused on trying to save her, that you wouldn't have been able to say all the things you got to say that day on the hospital floor, or hold her in your arms whilst the staff worked around you or rid her of the guilt and pain she carried. But then you remember the way the walls had closed in the moment you lay eyes on her surgeon's face; the loss, the panic, the utter devastation...the howl of pain that had ripped through you as you stood alone within the four walls of the operating theater surrounded by the bloodshed and her lingering scent. And you recall the reason why you don't work with 'what ifs', with such uncertainty. It's because it serves no useful purpose. Because at the end of the day, neither situation bears thinking about despite the fact that the first has already happened.

You stutter and stumble and struggle. But eventually, you get through it all.

Except for one...

Patrick Doyle.

Which is why you're here today. Or rather, it is what the good doctor has chosen to attempt to cover, to sort out during this session.

The mere mention of his name sends a fire through your veins. But the suggestion that you should go see him...the fire mixes with ice. There's a sense of indignation, anger, fury...resistance. You want nothing to do with the man. You said all you needed to say the day you stormed into his hospital room and Frankie had to drag you out, keep you from wrapping your hands round his neck to see if he could feel an ounce of the torment and suffering you felt, to see if he could feel at all.

But deep down, there's a part of you that accepts that there is a need to put it to rest. Completely. Utterly.

And in doing so, it would be the closing of one door and the opening of another.

It would mean that you'd finally be able to move on.

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**As always, you're comments and words are appreciated. Always. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**So I came back from work and the first thing I did was lay on my bed, telling myself that I'd get up in a few minutes so that I could upload this for all of you to read. Lo and behold, I fall asleep instead and only wake the next morning to find that I had done nothing in the previous evening that I had wanted to do. *Face palm* So yes, it's a day or so late. :( Apologies for that.**

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Chapter 7

You see the surprise that flickers over his expression, watch as he masks it as he sits down with only a table separating the two of you. You hear the sounds of an invisible clock as time ticks by.

"I hear she's back."

If looks could kill, you're sure he would be dead by now.

Of that, you are sure.

And it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference to you. It wouldn't matter to you at all.

"Don't you dare touch her," you snarl. The level of vehemence and hate you angle towards him makes him raise his eyebrow in surprise. It's the same surprise that flows through you, but in the lead up to the months of her apparent 'death', with the utter loss and devastation you felt at the realization that she was gone, in the guilt you've had to grapple with after the way you acted towards her before she was shot, you know there's nothing you would not do to keep her safe. To keep her protected.

He holds his hands up, as if in surrender. Silence surrounds the two of you. You don't know what it is you're meant to say. You're starting to wonder if you should be here at all. All your therapist said was that it was perhaps time to face him. To deal with your demons. To put them to rest. But you're not sure which one to start with. He breaks the silence.

"Why are you here, Maura?"

You turn away to avoid his gaze, choosing instead to look at the white wash wall of the prison. "Hell, if I know," you mutter. But you do, and that in itself is a lie. You know by now, you should be feeling the onset of tell tale hives, but in a way your words are true. There are so many reasons that brought you here. You just don't know which one it is.

Closing your eyes as you take a moment to gather yourself. Jane's face comes to mind and you think of her sitting outside in the car. She had both driven you here and offered to come in with you. For support. To anyone else, they may seem like two different acts; for you, they're one and the same. They're both a signification of the unconditional and unwavering love she has for you, even in the face of the person who created pain between the two of you. You don't think you could have found a better person to stand beside, to call your equal.

You recall the way her arms wrapped round you as you stood staring at the prison bracing yourself, the sound of her raspy voice in your ear when she asked if you would her to come in with you, the way you trembled and shook at the thought of him being anywhere near her, how her arms tightened holding you closer and yours did the same as you burrowed deeper into her blazer, inhaling and taking comfort in the smell of lavender and sandalwood and something else that was uniquely Jane.

It grounds you.

And you remember.

Closure.

You came here for closure.

You turn back to meet his gaze.

"You said no women and children." His eyes don't give away a thing; there's not even a flicker. "There were other people who knew. So why her? Out of all the people you had pickings of, why her?"

He shrugged. "She's a cop," he said as if that explained everything. His explanation still hasn't changed. It still provides no further clarity.

"She's also my best friend, my confidant, the woman I love, my fiance," you hiss.

"Didn't stop you from taking sides though did it?" The words are spoken quietly but they're like a slap in the face. The volume in which they're spoken only adds to the pain you feel. But it's true. It's the one thing you can never take back. But god, how you wish you could.

"And yet, when the gavel struck, where was I?" you retaliate. He knows you've got him there. He knows you never turned up, never mind for the final verdict, but for the entire trial.

"Regardless, we are family..."

"You know nothing about family!" Your voice is shrill as you interrupt him. The guard in the corner eyes you warily and you take a deep breath to get a hold of yourself, clenching and unclenching your fists under the table. "You know nothing about family," you repeat as you gather control. "Family is not about blood or DNA. It's about love and commitment and honesty and being there and having the each other's back."

"I've been there," he countered, "I've had your back. I've been to every graduation, every recital, every performance. I've watched over you, protected you..."

"In the shadows!" God, the man was stubborn. "You may have given me life. But if you had been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, to give up the job, the life you led, you would understand. And as for protection...you've never protected me," you scoff. "If you had truly cared, truly loved me, _truly_ wanted to protect _me, _you would have let me go. As it is, every moment you spent in my life, watching over me, bringing me more and more into _your_ world, _protecting_ _me_, all you've done is put me further into danger."

It dawns on him then that your words are true. You see it in his eyes. But you also see the struggle behind them. To accept the truth, to accept your words, and to truly let you go. "Jane knows the meaning of family. She knows what it means to love, to protect. She's given me all I've ever wanted, needed. You touch her...you even go near her...I'll lose myself. And I won't hesitate to follow." Your words are implicit but you can see he understands. But you need to be sure. "I will not hesitate to protect her. I will do everything in my power to keep her safe, to make sure she knows she's loved. But if you...'destroy' her, you destroy me." His eyes widen as he sees the extent you're willing to follow through for the blue collar cop he once asked to look after you. It appears to only just occur to him that it works both ways. You take a deep breath before asking for the closure you know you need.

"If an inkling of anything you've ever felt for me is really love, then you need to let me go."

One beat. Two beats. Three beats, four.

"Back to your family."

_Back to Constance and Richard Isles._

_Back to the Rizzoli's: Tommy, Angela, Frankie._

_Back to Jane._

"Yes." He slumps over in defeat, shoulders hunched, slouched over in the chair.

"Okay."

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**Urgh. I kinda struggled with this chapter but I hope I did it justice. Thanks for the reviews guys. Hope you're all having a good day. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"You know I love you, right?"

She looks down at you, startled, wondering where all this is coming from. Since the two of you got back from the prison, you've been quiet, silently processing everything. And she's let you have your time. She picks up the remote to put the tv on mute. Clearly, she sees something within you that says this warrants the silence, a discussion.

"Yes." You tighten your hold, bunching up the hem of the shirt she threw on after her shower. You want to hold on to her and never let her go.

"If I could turn back time..." Her hand curls into yours as she loosens your hold and she sits up, making you do so too.

"Maura?"

You look down at your hands now twisting your engagement ring. You've never taken it off. Not even when you were fighting all those months ago before she was shot, before your whole world crashed down around you.

"I just..." She takes your chin forcing you to look up at her. Her eyes are soft and understanding, compassionate and patient. She'd give you the world if she could and you know it. You just want to give something back. You want her to see how much she means to you.

"I didn't choose him!" you blurt out. She simply looks at you waiting for you to go on, waiting for you to say your piece. You take a minute to calm yourself before you begin again. "I didn't choose him...that day at the warehouse. I just...I don't want you to think that I chose him, because I didn't. But I know it looks like I did. That I took sides.I could never do that. I was angry, yes. Because ever since I found out he was biologically related to me, he's been lording it over me - the fact that only he knew who my mother was. Like it was something I was never good enough to know," she said bitterly. "And I felt like you had taken away my chance to find out who my biological mother was, is...my chance to prove to myself that I am nothing like the man. That nature does not win over nurture." You both know you're referring to the high you had gotten from graffiting walls with Dennis Rockmond as well as your awful history with men. You look down to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "And I guess...a part of me kind of wanted to know whether I was wanted. By my mother I mean. The life I pictured growing up with is so different from the one that I actually had."

"It's a funny thing me being right...you hate it don't you?" she teases. The words are spoken lightly, in reference to how she had hit the proverbial nail on the head all those months ago. You know she's only doing it to ease you from your guilt, to lighten the mood. But most of all, you know that she doesn't hold it against you. You swat her lightly, rolling your eyes but you can't fight the grin that's on your face. However, you swiftly become somber once more.

"You were right. All those months ago, I was looking for something, some part of me that had been there all along. I just didn't realize it till it was too late, but it's true; what you said. I don't need a mother, Jane. Just like I don't need that biological connection to find out who I am really. I've got Constance and Angela." There comes the classic eye roll at the mention of her mother. "And Tommy and Frankie and Korsak and Frost. And even Bass and Jo Friday." The mention of both your pets names gets a snort of laughter from the woman in front of you. "I've got everything I want around me; warmth, acceptance, joy, laughter, friendship, tenderness, affection...it surrounds me. It surrounds us," you say gesturing to the photographs of both of you families that adorn the wall to show how they hold the influx of emotion you've just named, and lastly to her.

It's true. You have family and friends now; not a huge amount but enough to know you're wanted, loved, seen. You don't think you could possibly cope with anymore quite honestly. And yet, you're no longer the lonely little girl who used to bury herself in her books in a desperate attempt to escape the world and its true colors. Jane changed all of that.

"But most importantly, I've got you." You place your fingers lightly on her chin, forcing her to face you. "I do have you, right?" It comes out as a whisper. You search her eyes as insecurity laps at you, throwing doubts left, right and centre. She takes your hand that's resting on her face and brings it between you both before resting her forehead against yours. The warmth of her breath ghosts across you but it's her words that end up soothing you, that makes all of your doubts go away.

"You have me," she confirms.

And for now, that's enough.

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**Next chapter is the wedding! Stay tuned guys! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Longest chapter yet! I think this was the easiest chapter to write of all, and I'm an itsy bit proud of it. Working on the honeymoon part now. :)**

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Chapter 9

In the weeks following her re-appearance you've learnt new things about her. Like how she learnt how to write with her right hand. Or more significantly, how she was the one leaving you those notes. So that you wouldn't feel alone. So that you didn't go off the deep end completely. Deep down, you think you've always known. And you marvel at the way she watched over you even from a distance and the way she managed to keep you both sane and made you question your own sanity. She's exactly that deeply complex person you've always believed her to be. But it is what she does next that completely stuns you. It takes your breath away…

.

.

.

You don't expect it.

Any of it.

One moment she's telling you that she's going to spend the night with Tommy and Frankie - a bit of sibling time together - and how she's arranged for your mother and father to come visit so that you're not completely alone, the next, you're waking up to the beginning of the sun's rays, a single red rose lies on the pillow beside you with a small post-it that says 'trust me' and just across from you, where the doors to your walk-in wardrobe are, is a garment bag hanging on the door.

It's your wedding dress.

The one you had originally chosen. The one you were supposed to walk down the aisle in weeks ago. You wonder how she even knew.

And then it hits you.

You're getting married.

Somehow, sometime, somewhere, she found time to arrange it all, to organize it, without you even knowing.

It's a flurry of activity from there on out. Dress on, make-up done, the next thing you know, you're mother's kissing you on the cheek promising to see you there whilst you're father escorts you down the driveway of your house where a classic white vintage morgan awaits you; you barely have time to process it all like where she found the car, how she put it all together, how did she even know about the dress, has she _seen_ the dress, where is it to be held, who's been invited, what about the food, the caterers, the flowers...? It's a slew of never-ending questions.

All these questions...they all flutter through what she has fondly termed, that 'big brain' of yours, as you pass by houses, cars, buildings, people, all going about their day which carries little or no significance in comparison to yours.

It strikes you then. Like it did before.

_You're getting_ _married_.

But before you even have the chance to react to those three words, the car comes to a stop and your father gets out, moving round to the other side just as the driver opens the door. He offers you his hand which you gladly accept; to ground you, stabilize you. He takes your hand as you get out of the car and tucks it under his arm and leads you down the path to where...

you gasp.

It's beautiful.

In the middle of the Common stands a white marquee and to the right of it, white-backed chairs adorned with red and white roses down the aisle. The red carries a wealth of significance; a symbol of deep emotion...of love...and fidelity. Its romantic symbol for true love and commitment. The white, both formal and elegant in its beauty sits in among the red in recognition of sincerity and of a love that resides only in the soul; irrelevant is the temptations of the flesh. Sometimes called the 'flower of light,' it signifies an everlasting love; a love stronger than death, an eternal love, undying in all its form. Its presence only enhances the beauty of it all.

Your guests are each standing in front of the chairs they have been assigned and as soon as they see you, they all turn and smile.

And then the music starts.

A soft symphony of the traditional wedding march, and you start walking. You're too entranced by the magnitude of it all to register that the music is not the normal sort of recording played on a CD player, that it is far too ethereal for it to be so, and so, when you come round the corner, and you turn to walk down the aisle that had been patterned with petals, you find yourself gasping once again and fighting back tears and a wealth of emotions threatening to overwhelm. Instead of finding her standing at the end of the aisle waiting for you, she's playing you down it.

In that moment, the Earth stops turning, time stops ticking, your heart skips a beat, the guests, people surrounding, the birds, the smell of freshly cut grass and the rest of the park goers off to one side cease to exist. It's a phenomenon that's scientifically impossible, laughable even but it happens nonetheless. Your father squeezes your arm in support, the widest smile you've ever seen on his fact and it takes all your willpower to not break down and rush towards her. She raises her eyes to meet yours and she gives you a small, crooked smile and a slight nod of the head towards the makeshift alter which consists of two white pillars with simple vines weaving up and around, as if to say, "shall we?" and it kicks you back into action again. You tighten your hold on your father's arm and slowly but surely, the two of you make your way down the aisle.

By some miraculous feat of coordination, she stops playing just a few steps before you get there to make her way towards you, and the music continues, picking up from where she left off. And before you know it, you're standing beside her and she takes both your hands in hers, nodding her thanks to your father who's more than a little wistful to give the hand of his one and only child to the woman he's come to call family. You giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek and that beaming smile once more adorns his face as your mother lightly tugs him away from you, shaking her head and rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. After all, he has to let you go even though he's not ready to...not quite yet...

And once more, you turn to face the woman before you whose hands are intertwined with yours and the two of you step closer, so in sync with each other it's unbelievable. You're blushing but at the same time, the tears start running down your face and you fight vainly to stop them, chuckling a little when you see the panicked look in her eyes. Your detective has never been good with tears or emotions but after the enormity of what she's gone and organised with no help whatsoever from you, and with all the things she's gone and captured in detail, from the flowers, to the music, to the piano, to the serenity and perfection of the location, you find it hard to believe. She quickly pulls you in closer, closing her hands of your face as her thumbs lightly brush the stream of tears away careful not to ruin your make-up too much, little whispers of "hey, don't cry, please don't cry" float towards you as she pleads with you.

She's alarmed, you can tell. But then your heart races with her next words.

"I know it's not quite what you organised previously. And I know it's not what you had your heart set on but if you want, we don't have to do it today. We don't have to get married yet. We have all the time in the world..." This time, it's your turn to panic. You shake your head, desperately trying to stave off the ever-flowing waterworks and you cup you hands over hers, leaning to rest your forehead on her.

"No,"you say. "There's nothing I want _more_ than to marry you."

There's relief and the sudden bustling of your mother as she attempts to fix your tear streaked face before you're once more right by her side, one hand curled round her arm, the other holding clasping her hand as you face the clergyman whose eyes that have seen an equal, if not greater amount of divorce and death, sparkle with delight, as if the display of affection and adoration has re-affirmed for him the fact that there is true love out there; that there is one person for another, and vice-versa, and whose soul is so closely connected with the other that not even time can break.

.

.

.

There's music and dancing and laughter and food. Your mother-in-law somehow pulled off a variety of dishes which sat in the buffet hot plates, ready and waiting for the guests to help themselves to, and all delicious in their own right. With everyone having eaten their fill, they're either on the makeshift floor, dancing it off or still seated at the table in stuffed ignorance as they watch the rest take a twirl on the dance floor.

You're loathe to let her dance with anyone else. All you want to do is stay in this moment.

Forever.

While this day has been perfect, beyond your wildest dreams even, it's her arms around your waist, it's her presence by your side, it's the hand that led you with confidence through the background of people who have become a part of your life as you got up to dance once again that matter most. Because to you, she matters.

To you,

she means everything.

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**I think this was my favorite chapter yet. What do you guys think? Too sappy?**


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